


Sweet

by cincoflex



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Banter, Bees, F/M, Honey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone buzzes into Stinger Apini's life and brings trouble with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he encountered her, Stinger wasn’t sure how she’d survived. Nobody ever managed to make it inside the farmhouse gate; not even the delivery people or the mail carriers. Even the school bus pulled up at good fifty feet back and honked back in the days when his daughter was getting her education.

But the woman in the angora sweater puffed her way towards him, her curly hair bouncing, everything bouncing, her gaze bright. Stinger felt something stir within him, something confusing since it was half fury, half interest.

“You’re lost,” he informed the woman, who’d made it to the porch.

“No, I’m Gina Bombini,” came her cheerful reply. “I’d like to do business with you.”

“Not interested,” Stinger shot back automatically. He’d worked hard to establish a reputation as a recluse, and there wasn’t anything he needed badly enough to have someone come all the way out to tell him so.

“Why?” she asked, cocking her head. Stinger was about to snap some crude and hard comment, but instead he took a look at her before replying. It was a mistake.

Looking at her meant noting the rounded curves of her, the bouncy boldness of her chest and thighs. Her skirt was snug enough to give him fair measure of her padded sweetness, and her dark eyes took him in right back even as she grinned.   
“Because I’m a mean bastard with guns,” he finally replied, scowling. “This is my property and I don’t want you here, so get lost.”

She laughed. It was a big woman’s laugh, bubbly and musical. Sweet. Stinger shifted, feeling annoyed. He looked up in time to see a wave of workers circling overhead; they weren’t attacking, but they weren’t retreating either. 

He cocked his head to look at her. “You’re . . . not from around here,” Stinger muttered.

“You could say that,” came her reply. “Look, you don’t want to talk right now, that’s fine. But here—” She handed him a glossy sheet of paper, and flashed him a smile, “when you do, here’s where you can give me a buzz, Mr. Apini.”

Then she looked up and waved. “Talk to him; make him see reason, ladies.”

He watched her saunter down the steps and out to her car, and caught himself licking his lips. Truly irritated now, he moved to crumple the paper up, but stopped himself and scanned it.

_Want to increase your crop yield and help the planet? The flyer asked. Use Bombini’s Bees! We bring hives to help pollinate your fields and provide natural fertility to your farms. Simple! Time-tested! Cheap!_

Stinger managed a dry laugh. “Cheap. Got that one right. So you want me to supply you with workers. Answer’s still no.”

He glanced down and noted that the bees who had been overhead were now landing and crawling on the flyer, covering it as they danced over the smiling photo. Stinger rolled his eyes. “No. You’ve got entire fields right outside! More corn than anyone knows what to DO with!”

The bees kept landing on the flyer, their weigh making it sag around his fist. One particularly sassy one landed on his nose.   
Stinger gave a sigh and dropped the flyer. He tried again as he retreated. “No.”

It took three days for him to finally call her.

The next time Stinger saw her, Gina Bombini was in a fluffy yellow sweater covered with bees. _His_ bees, he noted with annoyance. They were clinging to her like climbers on a rock wall as she made her way from her truck to the porch, and he heard her talking to them.

In Buzz.

Well that explained a lot, not that he hadn’t had his suspicions, but her rich timbre had him on alert, and it took a moment to bring himself out of it as he pushed open the screen door.

“Don’t baby ‘em,” he groused. “They’ll take advantage of you.”

She trailed off and wriggled her nose; the bees on her stopped their wings and simply crawled.

“You don’t talk to them enough,” Gina informed him. “They feel your resentment.”

Stinger felt his scowl deepen. He let his glare sweep around the porch, which emptied of bees in seconds. The ones on her sweater quickly clustered on her back. “I don’t resent . . . _them._ ”

“Really. When was the last time you sang to them? Told them the sagas? Gave them anything other than _corn_ to pollinate for melifera’s sake?” Gina buzzed at him, her dark eyes glittering.

Stinger felt the hair on the back of his neck go up, and quick jolts run down his shoulders to his hidden wings as the challenge of her tone hit hard. “How I run the colony is MY business. Stranger queen you may be, but this isn’t your hive.”

She stepped back and half-turned, pulling back her threat in one easy motion and the tension dropped immediately. Stinger held his gaze and she held out one hand, palm up; it held a Cosmos blossom. He recognized the gesture and gritted his teeth as immediately the flower was covered by delighted workers.

“Stop it; you’re embarrassing me,” he muttered to the insects, who paid no attention at all to him. To Gina he added, “They’ll never accept you as queen, you know.”

“I know,” she replied, “but they’ll follow me, if I take care of them.”

*** *** *** 

It took nearly a week to work out the deal. The details were simple, although they still galled Stinger. Gina would load three hives onto her truck and take them for a few days to her clients who had gardens or orchards. Most of the trips were over a hundred miles, although some were closer; all of them left him slightly anxious. He scowled whenever the truck left, and let out a sigh of relief when it returned, all to the amusement of his daughter.

“Are Apini and Bombini always so . . . antagonistic, or is it just you?” she demanded with a half-grin. “Because Gina’s nice.”

“It’s . . . a territorial thing,” Stinger replied, cleaning one of the oldest weapons he had; a mezzabolt blaster. “I’m supposed to protect them.”

“Against what? Getting great pollen? Enjoying new territory?”

“Against . . . enchantment,” he muttered. “Mesmer is dangerous.”

Kiza looked intrigued. “She’s got Mesmer? Seriously?”

Stinger looked up, sighing loudly. “Usually Bombini are clowns. They’re slow and stupid-looking. They hide their threat until they’re close and then—"

“And then?”

“It’s too late. Messy, disorganized, loud . . .”

Pointedly Kiza looked around the farmhouse and her father had the grace to cough a bit. “Never mind. Yes, she’s got a bit of Mesmer to her. In her scent, mostly, and a little glow in her eyes.”

“Why?” Kiza wanted to know. “She’s not a soldier . . . is she a spy?”

“Most likely,” Stinger grunted. “They’re not fighters, they’re sycophants, kissing up to the Entitled.”

“Then what’s she doing here?” Kiza wanted to know, and for that, her father had no ready answer.

*** *** ***

When Gina returned at sunset, he morosely carried the hive boxes to the back of the farmhouse, working hard to ignore the woman and not really succeeding. Kiza had left biscuits and butter out, along with instructions to share them; Stinger offered them up in a monotone.

Of course Gina accepted, settling down on the sofa on the front porch and using her index finger to lightly spread honey across one of the treats. Stinger leaned against the porch rail and watched her, biding his time.

“Someone _some_ where did you wrong,” she murmured, “and you’re still not over it, are you?”

He managed a grin with no humor in it. “You can’t trust what workers tell you; they see lots of things they can’t understand.”

“True,” Gina murmured, and tossed her head back to get the curls out of her eyes, “but they’ve been with you a long time. You’ve been a soldier without a war to fight for a while now.”

“What’s it to _you_ , jester?”

She pursed her lips as the jibe cut, and drew in a breath. “Nothing. It’s nothing to me. This planet’s big enough to hold you and your grudges, and you’ll have it to yourself again soon enough.”

Stinger hesitated, well-aware of her flutter of her hands, the glow of her eyes in the oncoming twilight. She was more vulnerable now, even before his sharp words and he felt a sting of regret. Carefully he shifted closer, reaching for a biscuit.

“I am a soldier, too blunt for my own damned good most days,” he offered by way of apology. “I’m not used to . . . the authority of others, not in the realm of my own.”

“I know,” she replied, and this time her lips shifted to a small smile.

They sat in silence for a while, and as they did, Stinger mulled over her words. He glanced at her as the shadows grew. “What do you mean, I’ll have it to myself?”

Gina winced. “Nothing. I run my mouth when I shouldn’t. Time to go.”

She rose, shaking her head, her long curls bouncing. Stinger realized she was slightly taller than he was. Before he could stop himself he called out. “Bombini, you have them? Or did your Splicer take yours away from you?”

Her laugh caught him by surprise. “I . . . have mine, yes, for all the good they do. Haven’t used them in . . . years.”

Stinger moved closer, feeling an oddness sense of camaraderie coursing through him. A kinship fueled by the honey in his mouth. “You can show them . . . here. If you’d like. I know how it feels to keep them folded away.”

Gina nodded slowly, her wistful gaze meeting his. They looked at each other for a long moment, and Stinger felt his stomach tighten a bit. Tension. An old memory, a sensation he hadn’t had in a very long time.

Then, she hummed, just under her breath; a low tone that curled into his ear like a hot breath. Gina moved away from him, letting the soft vibration linger as she headed for the truck. Stinger watched her drive off, and stayed out in the growing darkness, the memory of her hum echoing through him.

*** *** ***

When she didn’t show up after a few days, Stinger found himself caught between worry and annoyance. The tone of the hum around the farmhouse took a downward turn, and most of the workers moved a bit more sluggishly. Kiza said nothing, but by the fourth day, she’d moved the flyer from near the refrigerator to a more prominent place on the dining room table before heading out to work. Her father tried to ignore it, but when he found it covered with workers, he snatched it up and jabbed the number into his cell phone.

“More trouble than it’s worth . . .” he groused, secretly glad to be doing something instead of pretending to repair the combine out back.

“Bombini’s Bees, April speaking,” came an unfamiliar voice.

Taken aback for a moment, Stinger hesitated, then barked, “I need to talk to Gina.”

“Gina’s out right now. Can I take . . . oh wait, are you Mr. Apini? She said you might call,” the girl muttered over the line. “Hang on, she had a message for you.”

Stinger gripped the phone, waiting impatiently, pacing a little around the table. He glanced around the walls, aware that the dining room had gone silent; the bees had drifted away.

“Okay, yeah. She said to tell you that she’ll _try_ to be out there by the end of the day, after she gets back from treatment.”

“Treatment for what?” he blurted, still annoyed, but aware of some relief as well. Over the phone he heard the girl give a little sigh.

“I dunno. She goes in every couple of weeks though. Might be cancer or something. Anything else?”

“No, nothing else,” Stinger muttered, adding an absent, “thank you,” before hanging up. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, and stood a moment, trying to think. 

Treatment could be any number of things. Splicing had drawbacks, and although most blends were stable now, there were always issues that cropped up, and it could well be something like that, he figured. She’d looked healthy enough the last time he’d seen her, although . . . 

Stinger moved into the living room, glancing up. “You lot, the ones who went out with the queen. To me,” he ordered, and closed his eyes. Within moments he stood covered in bees, a thick, moving beaded blanket of them over his shoulders and chest, crawling through his shock of hair and along his craggy face. The sight might have sent some screaming, but Stinger merely slowed his breathing and let the hum reach into his hearing and connect with the part of his mind that understood.

 _/Good/_ Came the first impression /Of the hive/

 _/Yes I know you like her/_ Stinger impatiently acknowledged. _/What’s wrong with her/_

A sense of agitation rose, and with it, an odd reluctance on the part of the bees. Stinger waited for them to settle down, and they did, but not before leaving him with an impression it was something they didn’t want to speak about.

He pressed. _/What’s wrong with her/_

Now the buzzing was atonal, confused. Stinger tried to stay calm but his hive grew tense, and he felt the prickle of their feet digging in against his skin. 

This hadn’t happened in ages, he realized. Not since his arrival in this planet. They were resisting him, and rather than do damage, he allowed himself to hum.

The Drone’s Song rose from him, calm and low; steady. Within a few moments the hive settled down again, and began to lift away from Stinger in patches—first his face, then his hair, then his shoulders. One pokey worker made her way to the rim of his ear before taking off, flicking it lightly and making him frown.

He looked upwards. “All right. Something’s wrong and I’ll find out from her myself.”

And he would, Stinger told himself. Any secret that could work his hive up like this was dangerous.


	2. Chapter 2

He took his ill-humor out on the combine, with the result of a fully-repaired piece of machinery by the time he heard the sound of a truck approaching. Stinger managed to splash himself clean under the pump, drying carelessly before moving in an intercept for the porch. The truck pulled up, but the driver didn't get out.

Stinger looked over. He saw her behind the wheel, sitting there, and her stillness renewed his concern. It took only a few steps to reach the door; by then she was opening it and climbing out, slowly.

"Where have you been?" he asked, working hard at keeping it a question and not a demand. Gina took in a breath and looked past him, towards the house.

Towards the hives.

"Did you know I worked for Titus Abrasax for a while? He used me as a summoner for beings he wanted to humiliate," Gina replied as she straightened up. "The sight of me, bouncing along, calling out their names was intended as glorious mortification."

Stinger made a face; he remembered the pettiness of the Entitled ones; their delight in flaunting their superiority. "I didn't," he murmured.

Gina managed a smile that held only a ghost of sweetness. "Yes. I had . . . a costume, too. He laughed at me _every_ time I brought someone to him. I was his bumble, intended to humble. If it hadn't been for the access the position gave me I would have eventually bounced myself into a refinery I think."

As they reached the porch, a slow wave of workers flowed towards them, and one tentative bee hovered before Gina's face. She smiled again, and this one was warmer. The bee landed on her nose in welcome, making her rich laugh ring out.

"You're here now, and well away from that ass," Stinger pointed out, his voice gruff as he suppressed his anger. From what he knew of Titus the story was all too plausible. They stepped onto the porch and Gina reached for the rail.

"Yes. I made an appeal to Nova Cirrica, summoner to the Seraphi, and her Majesty gave me haven here. Took the plaything away from her spoiled son, the way a mother should, I suppose."

"I'm glad of it, but this isn't really answering my question," Stinger pointed out, motioning to the sofa. Gina made her way to it, dropping herself down with a grateful sigh.

"I've been to a health tech," she told him in a firm tone. "That's _all_ you need to know right now."

Stinger worked his jaw, aware that unpleasant things would happen if he pushed. He moved to Gina and squatted down on his haunches, doing his best to be neutral, looking her over as he did so.

"The nature of a drone—my nature—is to protect and serve," he reminded her. "What happens to my charges concerns me, and you are of my hive now."

"Your hive is lucky," Gina smiled at him, closing her eyes for a moment. "What ails me isn't something you can change, Apini, but being with your hive . . . helps. I do better in the hum of their wings, and the taste of their honey. They comfort me."

Stinger thought about that a moment. "Good," he finally murmured, "that's all right then."

He stayed with her as the light began to fade, settling himself against one of the porch posts, aware of the singing of crickets and the hum of his hive in the soft spread of twilight. Gina rested, not quite asleep but certainly not awake either, her frame slack. As she rested, he watched her, studying her curved cheeks and round nose, her quiet smile. Bees began to settle into the waves of her hair, and their thrum dropped to a soft pitch.

Night rolled in, and the darkness she brought was soothing. The sea of corn around the farmhouse added a susurration to the hum of the hive in a comforting serenade. Stinger felt himself relax for the first time in ages.

Gina drew in a breath and opened her dark eyes, as if suddenly aware of where she was. She gave a hum and the bees on her flitted away. "That was good," she murmured. "Better than a massage or a fresh bouquet."

"Stay," Stinger found himself offering. "If you like. You'll have the hum through the night. Kiza will . . . attend you."

It pleased him to see Gina hesitate, watch her consider his suggestion instead of dismissing it. "It would mean putting up with me in the morning," she warned, intending it as a joke. There was something lonely in her tone though, something wounded, and Stinger gave her a gruff grin.

"I'm far uglier and meaner than anything _you_ think you are, Bombini queen. As long as I'm supplied with coffee and toast, I'm merely terrifying in the morning. Besides, I could do with another pair of hands to do the collecting, if you're willing."

The moment stretched out, and Stinger found himself tensing, waiting for her laugh, or refusal, some gentle rejection. Gina said nothing, but finally she rose up from the sofa, stretching to her full height, her profile silvered in the moonlight.

"I . . . accept your offer. For tonight," she clarified, turning to glance shyly down at him. "Thank you."

He looked up, moved by her perfect, quiet regality. This was what true royalty was, Stinger sensed. What the Entitled sought to be and were not, and wonder of wonders he didn't feel intimidated.

Instead, he felt honored. And under that, aroused.

This wasn't something Stinger had expected, and he gave a nod to remind himself of the here and now, then held open the screen door for Gina. One little bee circled his head and lit onto the lobe of his ear, her buzz impertinent enough to make him growl.

-oo00oo-

He sat for several hours on the roof, keeping watch as he had for the last decade, aware of the horizon, and above him, the vast velvet of the sky. Stinger knew the residents of the planet had fanciful names for some of the patterns visible above; Kiza had told him a few several years back. He had no use for them, not knowing the legends they were based upon, so he'd made up his own names for them instead. The three stars in a row—those were the Great Barb, set to pierce the enemy. The square of stars in the sky; that was the Hive in the Beyond, where the Apini Spliced loyal to their queens would dwell after death. And opposite that was the faint little Tuft of Blossoms, put in the heavens to honor the workers and their bounty.

Foolishness, he knew. Creations based on his own whims and the few Apini legends he'd brought with him to this planet. Stinger had shared them with his daughter, who'd been kind enough not to laugh, although she pointed out he was part human too, and not everything had to relate to bees.

Her point was well-made, but Stinger still indulged himself when he looked up at night, humming softly to himself. He smelt a hint of rain in the west, and knew the corn would benefit from it . . . anything to keep himself from thinking of the female—the queen—under his roof.

Right below him, if the truth were told.

Wrestling with dangerous thoughts, he bit the inside of his cheek and turned his gaze to the south, where he would run the combine in a few more days' time. His farm wasn't large, not in comparison with the ones around him, but that was never the point. He'd taken the land and done his best to blend in, and even after most of the surrounding acreage had been bought up by corporations, Stinger had stayed on, generally content to keep his hives to himself.

There had been visitors over the years of course, but not many, and only a few from beyond the planet. And that was the way he liked it.

But now, with the shift of paradigm—a new queen of the Abrasax, one with definite ideas about what needed to change—well it would mean an end to the status quo here as well. Stinger wasn't sure what his place would be in Queen Jupiter's retinue, but it most likely wouldn't be sitting here planetside. He'd be out among the stars again, off at her command.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Part of him yearned to fly free, to do what he was created to do, yes. But part of him had grown to appreciate the continuity and comfort of the hive. To enjoy a home.

A noise startled him out of these thoughts and Stinger watched as a pair of hands gripped the rain gutter. He moved to grab the wrists but the soft thrum of wings vibrated in the air, and Gina bobbed up, guiding herself onto the roof.

They were perfect, Stinger noted. Translucently sepia, the chitin of her wings glittered under the moon. True Bombini wings, not like his own, which were Spliced with apocrita for strength and speed. He let his hands drop and bowed his head without realizing it as Gina settled herself onto the shingles with a little puffing.

"Okay, haven't flown in a while, so need to catch my breath . . ." she wheezed for a moment, smiling. "Wow. Now this is a view."

Stinger braced himself for the possibility of having to grab her if she slipped on the shingles. He looked up from her bare feet.  
"Why aren't you asleep?"

"Reasons," Gina replied, arching an eyebrow at him. "Some of them the same as yours."

He bit back his retort, well-aware of the subtle scents drifting between them. Here, above the hive and in the clear air the pheromones were much harder to ignore. Stinger let his gaze meet hers, and again, the allure Gina exuded made his stomach tense. "It's not safe up here."

She smiled, acknowledging he meant more than the hazard of the shingles. "I've fallen before," Gina murmured.

Stinger felt himself blush. The sensation was so unfamiliar that he flinched as well, and to his horror he felt his own footing give a bit. It was hard to keep his balance but he managed as Gina settled herself down on the slope and folded her wings back, easing them into the bio-pouches along her shoulder blades. She gave him his dignity by not saying anything and when he grudgingly sat down beside her, she pointed to the southern horizon.

"There, about forty-two miles in that direction. I and my retinue made our home there. I think the Seraphi must be fond of this continent to have set _both_ of us here."

"The farming," Stinger pointed out patiently. "The most acreage available in the most stable weather. Also off the grid. Where are your attendants now?"

Gina hesitated, and didn't look at him. "Humben was killed in a hit and run in the first year we were here. Crossing the street, looking down at the stripes because he always liked doing that. Silly little drone. How I miss him."

Stinger kept quiet, feeling the flare of her pain, aware of it in the low pitch of her voice. Neither of them said anything for a while, and then Gina took a breath and continued. "My ladies Biffla and Filba are still with me, but barely so. I make them sleep in stasis, and only take them out when the days are sunny and mild. They were among Rek Sonsotiva's first generation Bombini splices and well, ancient. They're nearly fifteen."

He felt both anger and compassion well up inside. "Why didn't the Seraphi have you all rejuvenated?"

"Titus had Rek Sonsotiva killed before his mother could arrange that, and after that it seemed pointless. We had none of his data to work with; another Splicer would have had to start from scratch, even one familiar with our particular branch of apidae."

She gave a soft little sigh, and looked up, overhead into the very heart of the sky. "Don't you _dare_ feel sorry for me, Stinger Apini or I'll push you off this roof myself. My attendants and I have had a good life here, truly. We've helped hives all over this land and gotten the tercers we've met to respect the winged ones in that time."

He gave her a sidelong glare. "I don't feel sorry for you, I feel fucking pissed off at your circumstances. You're without court, and that's . . . ." Stinger couldn't force himself to say 'a death sentence' and complete his statement.

Gina merely shrugged. "Being around your ladies help, as does the smidges of royal jelly I've bought these last three years. But there's no use fighting the way of things, and by winter it should be all over."

Appalled, Stinger began to say something, to protest against the flat and matter-of-fact way she said this, but all that slipped out was, "No."

"'Fraid so."

"No," he repeated more forcefully now. "It doesn't have to happen."

Gina gave a husky laugh with no humor in it. "It's going to happen to all of us eventually. Oh I may have years to go, but not under these conditions. The human in me is all right, but the bumble . . . that's breaking down."

"We can have you scanned, have the med techs map your Splice," Stinger murmured urgently, but Gina shot him a quelling look.

"No. I'm not a fighter like you; not a soldier. Bombinis were always very low on the scale of Splicer merit; made primarily for amusement. The cost of having treatment would be many times over my worth."

"Not to me. To us," Stinger corrected himself hastily. "In these last few weeks the hives are better. Happier. Kiza thinks a lot of you."

He didn't dare look at Gina, too aware of her under the light of the moon.

"Thank you. Your child is a treasure and your ladies make me buzz with joy," Gina replied in a soft tone. "But those truths cannot change the facts, brave drone. I don't have enough credits to even leave the planet, let alone engage a Splicer."

"I have some—"

"No. Anything you've got _must_ go to Kiza and the hive."

"I can—"

"No. The new Seraphi will be busy enough with learning her role without you pestering her on behalf of a lowly Bombini."

"I—"

"Shhhhhhhh," Gina murmured in a firm tone. "Kiss me."


	3. Chapter 3

Stinger gaped at her, and it was long enough for her to dart forward and lightly press her lips to his in a gentle buss. Gina pulled back, but not completely out of range, and smirked, the dimples around her expression deepening in response to his stunned expression, he was sure.

"W-what?" he managed, caught in a rush of sensations that began with desire and ended with confusion, "what?" Stinger repeated.

"You bring out the imp in me," she told him, tossing her curls back. "Also, your cologne has been driving me nuts. What is it?"

"Soap," Stinger snapped, still uncertain when the conversation had taken a detour. 

"With honey?"

_"Everything's_ with honey 'round here! What are you playing at?"

"Nothing," Gina huffed a little, and shifted away, turning her face. 

He tensed, not happy with her withdrawal and damning himself for causing it as his stomach tightened. All his senses were alert now, tingling and hyperaware of everything around him. Stinger tried to take a breath to calm himself, but the night air held her scent. "Yeah? Well that was not 'nothing' your Fecundity, not by a _damned_ sight."

She turned her head so quickly her curls bounced, and the dark glitter of her gaze made him warm. "Why do you have to make things so . . . complicated? If it's not clear to you what I'm doing, then I'm doing it wrong."

"It's NOT wrong!" he instantly shot back.

"Well thank you for that--it's not nothing and it's not wrong," Gina grumbled, “so _clearly_ we’re making progress.”

“It’s not nothing, it’s not wrong, but it’s not what I expected,” Stinger enunciated slowly, the effort almost painful. The baser part of him urgently wanted to grab her and show her what a REAL kiss was like, but the roof wasn’t exactly the safest place to try it.

Gina let her head loll back and turned her gaze up to the skies, and Stinger watched her shake slightly as she muffled a laugh. He almost felt better—almost—until the moonlight caught the glitter of a tear trailing from the corner of her eye. “Sorry,” she murmured, forcing her voice to stay light. “I’m really abusing the hospitality of your hives.”

“Hold it _right_ there,” Stinger leaned over into her space, not sure if he could handle any more tears than the single one. He reached out his thumb to brush the wetness away, and instead found himself bringing it to his lips, tasting it. As Gina watched him, he closed his eyes and hummed.

Stinger couldn’t help himself as the low, urgent tones of his Serenade spun from his lips, an unstoppable response to her nectar. His wings slid free, snapping into a rhythm that added harmony to his buzzsong. When he opened his eyes he realized that Gina was transfixed, and that her wings, her glorious wings were vibrating in the same pitch as his.

He felt slightly drunk; wobbling on the metaphorical edge and not yet dropping over. When she hesitantly hummed back, however, Stinger let himself fall. Actually felt himself begin to fall as the lift of his wings rocked him from his seat on the shingles. Scrabbling, Stinger tried to counter gravity but wasn’t having much headway until Gina’s hands reached for him, and they locked wrists.

She pulled him back, laughing a little as she helped him, and Stinger let his hand grip hers as his wings moved him closer. “Now it’s right. I’ve sung and you’ve sung back. Now I kiss _you.”_

“Pushy drone,” Gina murmured before dipping her head to accept the warm press of his mouth.

The luscious blends of heat and honey in her kiss sent shocks of pleasure down his spine, jolting him in ways he thought he’d never feel again. He’d kissed before; every soldier had his own adventures, but this—this feeling spiraled around his senses, making both the drone and man within him want to soar. 

_I’ve a queen in my arms,_ he thought dizzily, _and I’d die for her now._

Several kisses later Stinger felt Gina pull away from him, taking a deep and reluctant breath as she did so. He loosened his embrace—not enough for her to slip or slip away—and took a breath himself, not sure what was coming next. He had hopes of course, but he was too old and too cynical to let them rule his thoughts. Even up here under the moonlight.

“You are a dangerous one, Stinger Apini,” she breathed, smiling.   
“Only when provoked,” he countered, wondering if he could turn them and use the slope of the roof to be the taller one for a bit.   
“Yes that’s pretty clear. I can’t wait to see you dance for me.”

He lifted his gaze from certain distractions to look in her eyes. “Dance? You’re serious?”

Stinger knew the traditions that sprang from the ingrained patterns that not even the most determined Splicers could quite overcome. Avians had air battles to decide flock leader; wolves needed to find a single mate for life, and bees, well . . . they had rituals for courtship. 

Very specific ones.

Gina nodded. “Oh yes, if you want this to go any further between us. Biology; you know as well as I do that we’re hardwired into our ways.”

A fairly bad word escaped in his sigh, but it only made her laugh. The ridiculousness of the situation wasn’t helped at all by this body’s insistence that dancing right now was imperative. However, Stinger knew better than to try it on a roof. 

He looked out, over the edge. “Ten feet, easy glide down. Hang on to me.”

She did, and while the result was a little awkward, they both managed to stay on their feet, reaching the hard-packed dirt at the side of the house at roughly the same time. Two pairs of wings stirred up the dust, though, and the hum was louder than Stinger liked, even if Kiza’s room was on the other side of the farmhouse.

He reluctantly let go of Gina and cocked his head. “So.”

“So,” she echoed, and shot him a shy look. “You, ah, you know this can wait until later. Morning, even. That would give you time to . . .”

“Choose some music,” Stinger told her with cockiness he pushed to cover his own nervousness. “I’ve got some Tharides—the older stuff, mind, but properly, uh, romantic. I guess.”

He watched her puff a breath upward that made her curls stir.   
“Tharides, oh my. Yes, that would definitely fit, although you’ll probably put all the hives in a tizzy.”

Stinger laughed. “Like you haven’t already just by showing up here. This is . . .“ he waved an arm to include the two of them, the farm, the planet in general, “ . . . what we get for all our trouble. When I dance for you, it all _changes,_ Gina. You know that.”

“I do,” she whispered, and he caught the trepidation in her voice. Trepidation he himself mirrored, although he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Good. Because if this is all we’ll have, and have it only for a little while, then there’s no going back, aye? I’ll dance for you, Bombini queen, and you’ll have _me.”_

Gina nodded, looking as if she might cry again, so Stinger reached out for her two hands, pulling them to his lips, roughly kissing each in turn because he was desperate to stop those powerful tears of hers. 

“Sleep,” he ordered, his voice gruff. “I’ll keep watch.”

She dipped her head regally, and slowly walked around the side of the house, her bare feet making no sound. Stinger watched her, and waited long minutes, until he heard her climb the stairs before he followed, settling himself on the sofa on the porch. 

He ached, but it didn’t hurt. He let his tension ebb away, dropping into the light sleep that would carry him until dawn.

*** *** *** 

Naturally the bees knew. 

Stinger watched them shift out of whatever room he moved into, heralding his every step with the sort of delighted buzz that tingled the eardrum. Kiza watched them circle his head like a crown, and then turned her gaze to him, her smile broadening.

“Daaaaad?” she drawled, making his name a teasing question.

He blushed, and cursed himself mentally for it. “Never any secrets in a hive. Haven’t I learned that over and over?”

“Terrible gossips, every one of them,” Kiza agreed, smirking. Stinger avoided her eye as he poured himself coffee and took his time adding a dollop of honey to it. The day was fair, and the light still soft. He cocked his head, trying to hear if there was any movement upstairs but aside from the bees all was quiet. For a second he hesitated, fearful that only he and Kiza were here and that somehow the night before and everything that would be today had been and were imaginary.

“She’s not up yet. I laid out some stuff for her that’s, ah, too big for me though,” Kiza murmured as she checked her cell phone. “Damn, I’m going to be late! See you tonight!” She rose, swooped to mash a clumsy kiss somewhere between his cheek and chin, then scooped up her purse, sweater and keys, bounding away like a collegiate gazelle.

Stinger watched her go, forcing himself to stay quiet as he looked out the window over the kitchen sink. The better part of his days was spent simply waiting: for orders, and ordeals and outcomes. Today might be no different, he told himself, but the hope deep within him refused to believe that. Today, he’d dance.

He took a mouthful of coffee, wincing at the heat and considered matters. He’d learned to dance, back when Splicers had insisted on all their subjects learning the protocols as part of the integration. Nowadays Stinger suspected the courtship aspects had been dropped from the military Splicing agenda; he himself hadn’t been tagged for the breeding program despite being left intact. No, the testosterone within him was for aggression, not procreation. Not that it had been doing him any good stuck here for the last several years. 

A creaky stair told Stinger that Gina was heading down, so he busied himself pouring her a cup, and kept his back to the doorway. The escort of bees flowed towards the ceiling and zipped out the half-open window as Stinger turned around, holding out the coffee.

She reached for it gratefully. “Yesssssss.”

“Honey?”

“Darling,” Gina countered, deliberately misunderstanding him, and arching an eyebrow.

Stinger tried not to smirk, but it was difficult. _“Some_ one’s in a mood.”

She waved the steaming mug towards him. “Last night was the start; this is the capper.”

He laughed and sat down across from her at the kitchen table, his uncertainty fading as he took a good look at his queen’s expression.

Gina looked rested. Not completely, but better than she had in the last few weeks or so, and he loved her tousled curls. She smiled back, going a little pink under his scrutiny. “So.”

“So,” Stinger countered, waiting for her to continue.

“We need . . . witnesses. If this is to be . . . official.”

He frowned; in the rush he’d forgotten that part. Witnesses would validate the integration, would insure that everything was done for the good of the hive. Generally they were members in good standing with whoever owned the Spliced, or members of the reigning queen’s court. Stinger looked at Gina, who sighed.  
“We can bring Biffla and Filba here, but . . . it may well be their last act.”

Automatically his free hand slipped over hers, squeezing it. “Are you sure?”

She looked down into her coffee, shoulders set, and Stinger felt the shiver along his own spine, responding to her queenly demeanor. When Gina raised her gaze, her dark eyes held sorrow and assurance. “Yes.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Bombini workers were the frailest little old ladies Stinger had ever seen. He brought the sofa off the porch and helped settle them on it; they looked like a pair of shrunken dolls propped up against the worn cushions. Bees hovered around them, gently forming a protective curtain on three sides, and both Filba and Biffla smiled and blinked, chuckling softly.

“So sweet, so welcoming,” Biffla murmured, watching several workers on her shoulder.

“And polite,” Filba agreed. “Po-lite.”

Gina came over and knelt down in front of the sofa, reaching for their bony hands, gently wrangling their attention. Even the bees settled down as she spoke. “My ladies. May I present the Drone of this hive, Stinger Apini of Hive Mellifera?”

Stinger dropped to one knee himself, bowing his head fractionally and then looked up at them. “Ladies.”

They both shifted their bleary gazes and studied him with suspicion despite the fact that he’d just assisted them out of the truck and onto their current seats. Finally the tinier one—Filba—raised her hand, palm out. “A suitor. A suitor for the queen, Biffla. He’s very . . . angry-looking.”

Stinger wanted to protest, but held his tongue. Biffla’s head bobbled a bit as she smiled. “Not angry, sister. Unpolished. He’s rough. Handsome though,” came her reedy assessment.

Filba nodded. “Quite.”

Stinger blushed, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Gina was doing the same. “Ah, thank you. With your permission, I wish to court your queen, Regina Bombini of the Hive Oligobombus.”

For a moment none of them said anything; not the old ladies or Stinger or Gina. 

Finally Biffla sighed. “So tired . . .” she murmured, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Mellifera drone, where is _your_ queen?”

“We have none,” Stinger admitted. “My hives have only a figurehead in my daughter.”

“From your previous queen?” Filba wanted to know. Stinger shot a look at Gina before answering.

“No. I earned her for meritorious service. She’s human, conceived at my Splicer’s laboratory.”

The two ladies looked at each other knowingly. 

“Legionnaire,” Filba mumbled. “Definitely angry.”

“Hush,” her sister chided. “An earned child is no little achievement. And now he seeks to court our queen. I think it’s lovely.” To Stinger she nodded. “Yes, you may.”

Biffla gave a soft sigh and waved a ‘get on with it’ gesture to Stinger with a wobbly hand, then settled against her sister once again, closing her eyes.

Stinger rose up, dusted off his knee, and took a deep breath. Gina moved to stand behind the sofa, laying gentle hands on Biffla and Filba’s shoulders, her bearing utterly regal. He held her gaze for a long moment, finding strength in those fine dark eyes of hers, and then pressed a thumb to the little button at his belt.

Slow strains of Tharides _Lover’s Rain_ began pouring out into the midmorning air, a slightly melancholy tune with curls of unexpected complexity. Stinger lifted his shoulders, let his wings snap out with the arrogant flick so typical of the Legionnaires, and stretched his arms out at each side.

Stinger had practiced the Drone’s Lure many times; it was a good discipline all on its own. Kiza had once compared it to a Tercie dance called a Strathspey, but he’d pointed out that humans held their arms up high, looking foolish and dangerous. Drone tradition kept his arms out and ready to embrace the queen, should she acquiesce.

He moved. Step by step, letting the music guide but never drive him, Stinger made his wings buzz as he undertook the easy pattern there in the worn grass of the lawn. Any awkwardness he might have had disappeared as he heard the approving hum of the ladies on the sofa. 

Now was the trickier part, and Stinger kept his gaze level as he spun twice, repeating his earlier steps, determined to make every move as perfect as he could. His feet cooperated, as did the music, and by the crescendo, when he looked up, Gina had drifted over the sofa to land in front of him, her gaze locked on his. She held out her arms in invitation, the thrum of her wings once again matching frequency to his own. He darted forward, catching her hips, spinning with Gina in a quick duet that lifted dust and dandelion fluff all around them. They spun on, bodies moving closer with every rotation until at last she was fully in his embrace, the centripetal force of their dance bringing her lips to his in a heated kiss.

Stinger knew, dimly, that he needed to slow them both down otherwise the pair of them would fall over, so he pressed his heels to the ground in a tethering motion. When he’d done it on his own in practice it had stopped him, but with Gina’s extra pull it took a few more turns, and by then she’d come up for breath, giggling. 

“I take youuuuuuuuuu,” she said softly, her words tinged with Buzz. 

“Good,” he huffed slightly, grinning. “Bbbbbecause I’m not doing that agaiiiiiiiin.”

She laughed at that, and took another breath, blowing her curls out of her eyes. A quick kiss, and Gina turned, looking to the sofa at her ladies.

Filba had her arm around her sister, their two heads resting against each other, eyes closed, their expressions peaceful.  
Stinger knew.

He tightened his arms around Gina as she stiffened, held onto her as realization made her wobble. While she was taller than he was— _not by that much,_ Stinger told himself, she was easy to hang onto, and he simply held her as she gave a soft little sob.

Gently Stinger turned her to face him again and pulled her close once more, letting her cling to him for comfort, taking some himself at how easily she molded to him. This had no lust to it, only a mutual consolation, and he let her settle herself, giving her time to acknowledge the loss.

This was his job now, he realized. Drone. Consort to a queen. Her confidant, her comfort, her companion. They stood together for a long time.

When Gina finally pulled herself away, she gave him a soft buss before turning back to the sofa, her voice soft but clear. “A last gift from the Hive Oligobombus to the Hive Mellifera; take my ladies and use their essence to flourish.”  
At her words, bees shifted from aimless flight around the farmhouse and quickly clustered in a thick blanket over the still forms of Biffla and Filba. The multi-toned hum grew louder, and a new scent—dried carnations mingled with sage—drifted on the breeze. Stinger let his hands rest lightly on Gina’s shoulders; not to hold her back but to let her know he was there. Finally, several long minutes later, the bees stopped clustering and flew off in little groups, swooping away like dandelion puffs, and when they had all gone nothing remained of the two Spliced workers but their faded sundresses now in shapeless heaps on the cushions, and the soft perfume in the air.

Gina stepped forward, bent down and touched each garment lightly. “Gone. I knew they were close, but . . .” she straightened up again and looked at Stinger. “Thank you. For letting their passing be meaningful and . . . right.”

Stinger nodded, drawing the back of his wrist across his eyes. He’d seen death often—too often—but these touched him more than he’d realized. “Honored,” he muttered gruffly. The dance had left him aroused and tense, but not so overwhelmed with desire that he couldn’t appreciate the solemnity of the moment.

Gina took a breath, and then reached for his hand, taking it lightly as she gazed at him. “If we were on Floriana, or at the hill of Lilywood, it would be time to take flight and consummate our bond in the air, my drone. Somehow . . .” she pulled her glance from his and let it drift over the massive cornfields around the farmhouse, “I don’t think it would be wise to try that here. Even if the humans _wouldn’t_ remember seeing us.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “I’ve enough of a reputation around here as it is. No point in confirming anyone’s opinion of me.”

That made her laugh, just as he’d intended, and Gina met his gaze once more. “I’m old,” she pointed out, her tone light and yet serious. “And my fertility has probably passed. I may be no more than a figurehead to your hive myself.”

“I’m older,” Stinger replied quietly as he lifted a hand to brush the stray curl from her forehead. “And I want you as you _are,_ Bombini queen.”

It was the right thing to say, and she slid into his arms, pressing close once more.

*** *** *** 

Military training and natural instinct had left his room fairly Spartan over the years, but what it lacked in decoration it made up for in general comfort. The four poster bedframe had been one of the first things Stinger remembered refinishing when he arrived on the planet. The oak gleamed, and framed the big mattress easily. 

The rest of the room held little enough; a battered dresser with a gilt mirror over it, a pale brocade boudoir chair left over from the previous owners, and double curtains at the single window. The sheers were drawn, letting daylight into the room. He leaned against the doorway as Gina entered ahead of him, looking around quietly.

“Austere.”

“Functional,” Stinger offered, “like me.” Under his breath began to hum.

It worked; Gina’s shoulders unclenched and she took a deep breath, shooting him a sidelong look under her lashes as she stepped towards the bed. Her hand slid on the gold and brown satin quilt done in hexagons, and she hummed back.  
He stepped closer, and their hums blended, his deeper tone under her husky one, the tune they created both lyrical and compelling. Stinger focused on her, the edges of his vision fading when Gina reached for him, her hands on his chest. Kisses, soft and deep and slow. Stinger let himself play with her soft, soft mouth, marveling at how intoxicating it was. His breathing went ragged, and when Gina unbuttoned his shirt, her warm touch skittering over his skin he gave a groan of pleasure, arching over her, and bringing them both down to the mattress. 

Gina seemed just as impatient as he was, and pulled his shirt off with quick tugs, dark eyes sparkling at what lay underneath. Not that Stinger felt impressive by any means but farm life had kept him trim, if somewhat pale. Her hands skittered over his skin, her caresses leaving heated, distracting tingles. He tried to focus on getting her out of the sweatshirt and skirt Kiza had left for her, but his queen was too determined to strip _him_ first, apparently.

He bit back an oath when Gina slid a hand down the front of his jeans, and her hum trilled through her voice.   
“Ohhhhwwwwwowwwww.”

Stinger gripped her wrist, stopping any further fondling. “Ssssslower,” he warned her, feeling slightly drunk with lust. To soften his words he rolled to his side to savor the sight of Gina sprawled on the quilt, her hair messier than ever, her mouth in a relaxed smile. 

She relaxed her hand and slid it out again, moving to undo his straining fly instead, and savoring his shivers. “All right, sssssslower,” Gina agreed, stretching up to kiss him again.   
Gradually they both made it out of their clothing and Stinger felt driven to thoroughly examine his new queen, lightly running his stubbly cheeks and chin over as much of her newly bared skin as possible. Lush was the word that kept drifting in his thoughts as he licked the artful Splice brand at the nape of her neck, and traced the delicate belt of golden merit sigils that circled low on her hips in honeycomb calligraphy. Below them, under the rounded softness of her belly, Stinger gazed at the thicket of dark curls there and fresh desire prickled through him, the tiny jolts mingling of pleasure and pain. 

“Mmmmmmmyyyyqueeeeeeeennn,” he rasped, brushing his face along her thighs. Obligingly Gina opened them slightly, her own shivers apparent as she did so. The move revealed more of her, and the dampness along the seam of her sex glittered with the honey of her desire.

Stinger dipped lower and let his tongue, hot and wet, slide along the cleft, tasting her, drinking the heady flavors of his queen. He nuzzled closer, letting the taste of Gina bring his lust into sharp, almost painful focus as he did so. This, he knew, this erotic little gesture was what turned the balance now. Now _he_ led the dance, and the queen had to give him his due. Gina sighed, her hands stroking his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck as he continued to suckle and tease.

She gave little gasps, and their intensity grew until Stinger felt Gina’s thighs squeeze tightly against his shoulders just as the tender bud stiffened under his lips. He let it pulse against his tongue, riding out her breathy moans of pleasure, and pulling back only when he was sure she was sated.

He rose to his knees, savoring the sight of Gina limp and flushed, her half-lidded gaze taking him in with a blissful smile. She seemed to be torn between looking into his eyes and looking somewhere lower. Not that Stinger blamed her, truth be told.

“To meeeeee, my drone,” Gina whispered, and held out her arms.

Stinger had never heard any words so drenched with lust in his life; he slid forward, catching one of her damp thighs over his shoulder and drove himself into her in a single slick stroke, sinking deep into Gina’s cleft. The heat of her, welcoming, squeezing made him grunt hard, biting his lips against the drive of nearly overwhelming pleasure that threatened his control. His face hovered over hers, the two of them looking into each other’s eyes.

She hummed. 

He growled, rocking into her, feeling her hips rise to meet his as they thrust their bodies together, slippery with desire and sweat. Stinger felt his wings snap out even as he drove deeper, kissing her throat, her shoulders, her chin. Gina urged him on, her hands pulling him, stroking muscle and fur, fingers raking his skin in ever stronger stripes. The bed creaked, and he caught a glimpse of her wings against the quilt, amber lace pinned there on the satin.

Too much. He felt the rising surge between his thrusting hips and knew that despite the wish to make this coupling last longer, his body demanded release. Stinger pressed a clumsy kiss to Gina’s mouth, trying to whisper to her those important words and found himself breathing in the same ones back from her as she buzzed them, her hands clinging desperately to his flanks.

The rush of climax flared through him in a molten wave of golden pleasure and he muffled his groans against the side of Gina’s throat, riding the dying spasms as she clung to his broad back, holding him until his shuddering slowly stopped and he lay on her, damp and drained.

Stinger felt the thudding of his heart begin to slow into something closer to his normal pulse and finally raised his head to look down at his queen. She turned her face meet his gaze and he grinned. Her hair was a wild storm of tangles; her cheeks were pink and her mouth slightly puffy.

“Beautiful,” he croaked, “you.”

Gina reached up to stroke his cheek. “Keep talking like that and we may have to do this again.”

Stinger felt himself grin dangerously. “At your command, my queen.”

"But first, maybe a wash and a nap?” she suggested, yawning.

“You Bombini and your hygienic ways,” he pretended to grumble, pushing hands on either side of her waist to lift himself from her body. “I suppose so, although we’re just going to get damp and, ah, sticky again.”

“Lather,” Gina giggled, “rinse, repeat. With intermittent naps.”

“Pushy queen.”

“Pushy drone.”


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Kiza returned, Stinger and Gina were up, dressed and looking perfectly normal, he thought. That belief shattered when she took one look at the pair of them lounging in the kitchen and burst into spluttery giggles. Stinger shot her a sour look, but Gina merely smiled and sailed over to his daughter, giving her a hug.

“My princess,” she murmured. 

“Our queen,” Kiza laughed, “FINALLY! Now the hive can shut up and let me study in peace!”

“Oh never mind me,” Stinger snapped, feeling embarrassed and annoyed. “I’m just the _drone_ ‘round here.”

“Daaaaaaad,” Kiza slippped out of Gina’s embrace and darted over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re a _consort_ now, and that’s a huge stinking _deal_ you know. By the addition of a fertile queen the hive’s now eligible for Aegis protection through any harvests. You and Gina qualify to have it moved to any planet you choose, and best of all, any of your offspring are automatically Freeborn and not property of any Splicer!”

Stinger shot her a quick look. “How’d you learn all that?”

“You _know_ I’ve been taking Holo-courses relayed from Orus for my galactic advocate training,” Kiza replied. “I looked into hive rights first thing.”

“Yeah?” He felt a sense of pride immediately followed by alarm. “Wait, you’re supposed to be studying tercie law!”

“Tercie’s a good start, but I’m not _staying_ here,” Kiza told him in a tone he knew all too well. “You know that too, dad.”

He did, although it still irked his drone instincts. “Still years to go anyway,” Stinger muttered.

“A few,” Kiza agreed. “But Captain Tsing’s cousin is willing to sign me up for a clerk apprenticeship as soon as I qualify.”

“Already planning it?” came his grumble. Gina strode over and laid a hand on his shoulder. Her touch soothed him a bit although Stinger tried not to let it show too much.

“It’s good to have plans,” Gina reminded them both. “But in the meantime we’ve all got plenty to do right now. When was the last time any of the hives were properly cleaned?”

Stinger said nothing, aware that Kiza looked as guilty as he felt. Both of them twitched a bit, and Gina laughed.

“Been meaning to,” he began, but his queen slowly shook her head.

“It’s all right, just overdue. I’ll consult them tomorrow and see what suits the hive best. Oh, and we want two gardens.”

“Two?” He shot her a glance. “When there are acres of crops around us in damned near every direction?”

“Flow-ers,” Gina replied serenely. “And herbs.”

“Oooh! Mint, and ginger!” Kiza beamed. “Those would make some fantastic honey!”

“And sunflowers,” Gina agreed before turning her gaze back to Stinger. “So you’re going to be busy, my drone, busy as a--”

He rose out of his seat and pointed a finger at her, expression mock-flinty. “No, we don’t use that saying around here, all right? Flowers. Herbs. I’ll do it. Nothing says I have to _like_ it, though. Not one damned thing.”

She pursed her lips and buzzed softly, a kiss felt rather than seen, and Stinger blinked a little, mollified for a moment.

Kiza snickered again. “Bee-sotted. Sheesh, I’m going somewhere clear of all the pheromones, guys.” She bounced away, leaving the two of them in the kitchen. Stinger turned to watch her go before looking back again at Gina.

“Weird,” he grumbled. 

Gina kissed him. “Weird,” she agreed. “But she’s right.”

\--oo00oo--

Without much discussion, Gina moved in. Stinger helped her load a single U-haul pull along trailer and brought over her meager collection of furniture and goods a few afternoons later. It distressed him to see the bottles of prescriptions among her belongings—most Tercie, but a few were from an off-world clinic. He knew Regenex wouldn’t help—the nectar only worked on the human part of any being—but it didn’t stop him from wishing it would. _As if any of us could afford it anyway,_ he grumbled inwardly. Even if it did, it would also be awkward to ask the Seraphi Jupiter for help, given her stance on the stuff. 

“What do the doctors say?” he asked Gina later, when they were curled up under the quilt, damp and sated for the moment.

She didn’t lift her head from his chest. “Nerve degeneration mostly, since they can’t see what I really am. Some of the meds stop the pain. The off-world stuff is good at slowing the damage but they can’t rebuild me per se.”

“So when you came here,” Stinger mumbled, “you already knew you were sick. Dying.”

Her gusty sigh blew over his chest. “Yes. I wanted to connect with a hive that could understand what I was. Tercie bees . . . they respect me, they let me guide them, but they don’t really understand I’m one of them. There’s not a true hive mind to them. Your stock has your lineage though, and that makes them open to me.”

“What if I’d run you off that first time, the way I wanted to?” he asked, feeling a pang deep inside.

“Then I’d have gone home, brewed a pot of Borulux EverSleep and had a last tea party with my ladies I suppose,” Gina whispered back. “If I thought you’d _meant_ it. But your hive told me otherwise.”

Stinger flinched and tightened his arm around her, feeling a hint of panic at what might have been, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before speaking, his voice gruff. “Remind me to put an extra couple of Cosmos bushes in that garden you’re making me do.”

“Oh I will, I will,” Gina assured him, her hands moving down his torso in a way that ended any further discussion.

*** *** ***

Caine figured matters out at first sniff; Stinger watched as he looked at Gina, his nostrils briefly flaring. A hint of jealousy rose up, but Stinger squashed it back down; no point in giving the younger man any reason to grin.

To his credit Caine didn’t, but one corner of his mouth quirked up in acknowledgement of the new relationship in front of him.

“Gina Bombini, this is Caine Wise, a colleague of mine,” Stinger managed. 

She nodded, holding out a hand to let Caine bend over it, all the better to catch her scent. “Good to meet you.”

He gave a nod, saying nothing, but watching them both, his shoulders loose. Stinger approved; it had been years since he’d seen Caine so relaxed. Clearly service to the Seraphi was doing him a world--or more-- of good. 

“Her majesty wants to know if now would be a good time to visit,” Caine murmured. 

Stinger felt his eyebrows go up. “Here? She’s always welcome here, but well . . . it’s not fancy.”

“That’s just what she wants,” Caine replied, smiling briefly again. “She said something about fresh air and a lack of . . . stuffed shirts.”

Gina laughed, and Stinger snickered a bit too since it was clear Caine wasn’t familiar with the phrase. Caine took no offence at their reactions, and when Gina smiled, he returned it.

“So it’s true she’s a Recurrence?” 

“More like . . . an improvement,” Stinger murmured, and looking at Caine, he nodded. “Her majesty is always welcome.”

“Then we will be right back,” Caine replied, and slipped away leaving them.

Gina blinked. “Er, as in right _now_? We’ve still got dishes in the sink, and I haven’t put away the laundry.”

This time Stinger shrugged. “Somehow I don’t think it’s going to bother her; trust me.”

And he was right, of course. Stinger knew, having lived on the planet a while, that although her majesty might _own_ the place, she never acted like it. Seeing her sail into the living room, smile at Gina and give her a hug was gratifying, and when Jupiter winked at him, Stinger tried not to blush.

“Your majesty,” Gina began, and Stinger could see she was struck by Queen Jupiter’s uncanny resemblance to the previous Seraphi.

“Jupiter, _please,_ ” came the firm request. “I get enough of the royal treatment up there,” and she waved an arm overhead. “So you’re, um, a bee splice too?”

“Bumble, not honey,” Gina told her. “I knew your . . . predecessor.”

“Wow,” Jupiter murmured, and shot a keen look at Gina. “Tell me; what did you think of her?” 

“She was sad,” Gina replied quietly. “Kind to me, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Gina nodded. “I only saw her twice; once when I petitioned to be bought free of her son’s service, and once after that when she came to the planet for a few days.”

“Which son?” Stinger heard the hint of tension in the queen’s voice.

“Titus Abrasax,” Gina replied quietly. “I was his . . . summoner.”

Jupiter made a face; she reached out and patted Gina’s arm. “Wow. Okay, you’ve got my sympathy right there. I saw how he treated the people—beings—that worked for him and . . . yeah.”

Stinger nodded and slipped an arm around Gina’s waist in a gesture of comfort, helping direct the conversation to lighter things. Moments later, he waited until Gina stepped out to bring the lemonade and looked to Jupiter as he cleared his throat.

She turned to look at him, one eyebrow going up at his obvious tactic. “Yeah?”

“A . . .” The word was hard to say. “ _Favor_ , your majesty?”

The queen’s expression sharpened; Stinger knew he had her full attention as she shifted closer. “Yes?”

He took a breath, shooting a quick look to the kitchen doorway before speaking in a low, urgent voice. “She needs care. Medical care. And she won’t ask you, but _I_ will.”

To her majesty’s credit, she didn’t ask questions. “You’ve got it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Just . . . not a word to her. She’d be pissed.”

Queen Jupiter nodded, and leaned back when Gina returned with a pitcher and glasses, looking cool and calm. Stinger had to admit he was impressed with her quick shift, and did his best to look innocent as well, which didn’t come nearly as natural to him. Luckily he could fill his face with a few of the honey gingerbread cookies as the conversation picked up around him, feeling both guilty and relieved at his request. 

Stinger relaxed until he happened to glance up, and in one horrified moment noticed that he and Queen Jupiter hadn’t been completely alone during their exchange.

_You were never alone near a hive,_ he realized with a sickening swallow of suddenly tasteless cookie.


	6. Chapter 6

Naturally the bees tattled.

Right in the middle of their argument she started wheezing, and that immediately put the kibosh on everything they’d been shouting at each other for the last hour. Stinger helped her to a chair in the living room, dropping down next to the arm to keep an eye on her while Gina struggled for breath. Above, a nimbus of bees began circling, creating a breeze around them.

Gina still managed to look annoyed even through her chuffing. She waved him away and leaned back in the chair, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to regain some sense of control.   
Stinger watched her. He noted that she hadn’t panicked, which meant she’d been through prior attacks, and that fact worried him. The sheer need to do _something_ drove him to the kitchen and he filled a water glass, bringing it back as quickly as he could. 

She took it, grudgingly, and managed a few sips before speaking, her voice now deeper and huskier than ever. “Thank you. This doesn’t let you off the hook, though.”

“I know,” Stinger shrugged, noting how her face stayed pale even as the rattle of her breathing faded. “Better?”

“A little,” she admitted quietly, adding, “You shouldn’t have done it; that’s all. There’s nothing TO be done, and I won’t waste an Entitled’s time looking for a cure for what can’t be fixed.”

“That’s your piece, now here’s mine,” he replied. “You’re my queen and head of this hive. A drone’s duty to save his queen.”

“A drone’s duty is to _obey_ his queen,” Gina growled. “And give her a nice snuggle now and again.”

Stinger felt his eyebrow go up at this euphemism and his look made Gina giggle in little croaks. “Oh, snuggling is it? We’ve gone through six sets of sheets I’ll have you know.”

“Shhh!” Gina blurted, finally blushing. “And that’s not the point here.”

He leaned over the arm of the chair and kissed her mouth firmly, then pressed light ones up her nose until his lips were against her cool, damp forehead. “I’ve done my duty as a drone. I’m calling in this favor as a _man_ , Gina. You saw her; it’s a trifle with all of her assets and power. If she can help, she will.”

Stinger felt her kiss his throat, and it sent a pang of guilty desire through him like a hot needle. He’d become sensually sensitized now, in synch with Gina, susceptible to her touch, her scent.   
Being aroused now though seemed out of place, and he tried to pull back. 

Gina purred against his throat and Stinger stiffened, both metaphorically and physically, caught over the edge of the chair, and all too aware that Gina’s hand was now slipping under his shirt. 

“You’re not well . . .” he tried to begin, but her kiss turned into a nip, and that set matters off right then and there. Stinger had never considered any of the living room furniture as suitable for consorting before, but found that the assumption was wonderfully mistaken. By the time he needed to catch his breath they’d debauched the recliner, the oak coffee table, and had taken terrible, intimate advantage of a hapless ottoman.

“If I’m going out, I’m going out with a bang,” Gina wheezed at him, damp curls framing her pink, happy face as they lay clumped on the sofa. Stinger chuffed a little himself, feeling a bit exposed since half his clothing lay strewn about. He ran a hand over his bristly chin and sighed.

“At this rate you’ll be the death of me _first,_ ” he pointed out. “Not that it won’t make an impressive tombstone.” He waved a vague hand. “Here lies Stinger Apini; he gave his all for hive and queen.”

Gina giggled. “Well you’re very _good_ at your all, you know.”

He would have made some witty reply, but the sound of the truck rumbling up the road made him jump and grab for his trousers even as he shook a finger at Gina, who was busy collecting her own intimate apparel. 

She laughed at him, and for one long moment he looked at her framed in the afternoon light, dark curls crowning her head, eyes deep and sweet as she giggled.

The image ran him through, flooding his senses with a rich drug composed of feelings sweeter than adoration, stronger than lust. Stinger stood there, jeans in his hands, stunned.

“Oh for the love of pollen get dressed!” Gina told him in good-natured exasperation. “Kiza’s going to walk in at any minute!”

“I love you,” he blurted, slightly terrified of the words.

Gina’s mouth made a lovely ‘O’ before she replied, “No, I love _you,_ ” and threw a cushion at him.

Stinger grinned all the way into the downstairs bathroom.

*** *** ***

A few weeks passed since nearly getting caught, and he hadn’t meant to overhear their conversation, but he’d been standing on the back porch, struggling to scrape mud off his boots when their chat drifted out the kitchen window. It wasn’t as if Stinger had planned a sudden late afternoon downpour to leave him with filthy footwear right before dinner. But there it was and there _he_ was, a few feet away in the dark.

“You guys are being, um, careful, right?” His daughter asked. 

Stinger felt his face go red even as he winced. By rights children weren’t supposed to ask that sort of question to the grownups, but then again, he and Gina hadn’t been terribly grown up lately.

“I’m Bombini; your father’s Apini. We’re not biologically compatible,” Gina murmured. “Besides, Legionnaires are usually not . . . capable of breeding. That’s what I was given to understand anyway.”

“ _Some_ are, the ones in the program,” Kiza persisted.

“Maybe they had a select few back when the Legion Splices were still the vanguard, but not now. And I’m a queen mostly in name around here anyway, so breeding’s probably not in the cards—your status as an only princess is safe.”

“I don’t know,” his daughter mused, “might be fun to have a grublet or two around.”

He heard Gina chuckle with a hint of sadness to it. “What, and make all the little ladies of the hive jealous?”

“Are you kidding? They’d probably stuff it chock full of bee bread,” Kiza replied. “They’re already going into overdrive on that, honey, and royal jelly with you around. No, I was just sort of . . . you know, wondering. Not like I could ask _dad_ about it.”

Mentally Stinger agreed; one embarrassing birds and bees discussion with his teenage daughter had been enough for him in this lifetime, and any others involving his _own_ love life were off the table. He hadn’t considered the current topic much himself, for the same reason of incompatibility that Gina had mentioned.

That, and her own declining health. So far they hadn’t told Kiza, but Stinger knew it would have to be soon. For the moment, these halcyon days would have to be enough and he was loathe to spoil it.

“True. But no, I’m fairly sure it’s not in the cards for us,” Gina murmured. “We’ve got our hands full with you, anyway.”

His daughter made a rude sound, and that gave Stinger the opening he needed; he stomped on the porch and made as much noise as possible before entering the kitchen. The scent of Mulligatawny stew filled the air, making his stomach growl a little in response.

“Wet out,” he muttered, trying hard to look casual.

“Been that way all day,” Kiza agreed, and moved to set the table. Stinger sidled closer to the stove, lifting the lid from the pot and taking in a whiff of the contents as Gina shot him a sidelong glance.

It told him that his ruse hasn’t worked; that she’d known he was on the porch. Defiantly Stinger returned the look with one of his own ‘So?’ expressions and set the lid down again.

They ate, listening to Kiza prattle on about college and the study group she led (“Honestly, if they’d just read the syllabus they’d know where we’re headed!”) before finishing the dishes and moving out to the porch. The rain had faded out to a light drizzle and it was cool enough for Gina to wear her black and yellow sweater. Stinger sat beside her in the twilight, neither of them speaking for a while.

“More rain coming,” he finally offered up.

“Yep. Good for the garden.”

“Might be a good time to clean the hives, too,” Stinger pointed out reluctantly. They were overdue, and he didn’t relish the job, but on the other hand he’d have thousands of grateful bees and a very pleased queen. Getting himself covered in bee crumble, wax, and dust seemed worth it.

“Yes,” Gina agreed, and began to cough. Stinger waited a few seconds and then rubbed her back as she bent forward, trying to stay calm. It abated after a few moments, and when she straightened up, Gina looked tired. “Sorry.”

The only answer for that was to wrap his arm around her and pull her close.

\--oo00oo—

Within the next few days several things happened, and trying to handle each of them left Stinger feeling like a worker bee at the Rose Bowl Parade. First Gina insisted on going into work, arguing that she needed to begin shutting down her business. Stinger tried to get her to do as much as possible from the farm, and fretted mightily when she did venture out without him. He would have insisted on going along, but Gina just as firmly insisted she could handle matters.

It didn’t help that Jupiter had kept her word and was sending help, generally in the form of massive data downloads and delivery of all sorts of drugs, therapies, and 3D specialists. At any given hour Stinger found himself summoned for a conference or signing for deliveries, being pulled away from the hive-cleaning and flowerbed work. Never a patient man to begin with, the constant interruptions put his temper on edge.

Not that it needed much of a push.

So when Gina returned, he stomped out to greet her, only to find blood leaking from the corner of her mouth, and his entire rant died away as he helped her out of the truck. She fought his attempts to carry her, but she did let him slip an arm around her waist and help her into the house. Stinger sat her down on the edge of the bathtub and wiped her lip, and then glared at her until she sighed.

“I _may_ have overdone it a little,” Gina admitted in a low voice. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m here _now_.”

“You,” Stinger muttered, “Will be the death of us both. No need to rush things along, aye?”

“I don’t rush _anything_ ,” she countered, but with only half the energy she would have usually put into a retort. Stinger opened his mouth to argue, but at that point Gina turned slightly green and began waving him out of the bathroom. He left, shooting quick glares at the bees, who were hovering along the doorframe, buzzing with concern. 

“Don’t push her,” Stinger warned them gently, “but don’t . . . be _too_ far away, either.”

The bees seemed to understand this, and stayed on guard outside the bathroom while he forced himself to go back to the flowerbeds. Stinger’s frustration helped him tremendously; he let it guide him through the tilling until he ached in places he’d forgotten he had. When he tried to straighten up it took a while, and he limped when he climbed the porch steps.

Gina took him by the hand and led him back to the bathroom where the tub was already filled and steaming. She stripped him down (that part he didn’t mind at all) and motioned for him to get in, then pulled over the little stool from under the sink and sat down next to the tub.

He sighed as the heat sank into his muscles. “This is good; therefore I am suspicious.”

“I already _said_ I overdid it, but now so have you,” Gina pointed out, giving him a patient look. “Thank you, by the way.”

Stinger gave a grunt and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth. When he opened them again, Gina was peeling off her blouse.

He grinned.


	7. Chapter 7

There were tercie ceremonies of course, but since neither Stinger nor Gina felt particularly inclined to do much more beyond telling the bees, it came down to an extremely small service, conducted by an amused Captain Tsing and witnessed by Kiza, Caine, and her majesty. They combined it with a picnic out by the pond. The day was cool and a little overcast, but none of the guests minded. Even the bees took the opportunity to visit the blooming weeds around the pond, doing their best to avoid any hungry sunfish in the process.

Stinger watched as Gina and the captain strolled back to the house. In the field, Kiza and Caine had started an impromptu game of Frisbee. He turned to look at Jupiter, who had spread the picnic blanket down.

“Wow,” Jupiter told him after giving him a hug. “Pretty low-key. But nice,” she added quickly.

Stinger gave a little sigh, amused at her moment of chagrin. “It’s all right, your highness. Neither my queen nor I are much on ceremony.”

He watched her nod, and after a little awkward pause she shot him a look that asked the question she didn’t need to vocalize.

“Still working on it,” he replied, trying not to sound as discouraged as he felt. “There are ways of boosting her genetic code, but they only go so far as the similarities between our lines. Once it hits the point of diversification though . . .” his voice trailed off.

“She looks a little better,” Jupiter murmured. “Geez, I wish there was something more I could DO.”

“Well you can’t. None of us can, I suppose,” Stinger replied wearily. “And while I thank you for everything you HAVE done, today’s about today, all right?”

Her majesty nodded, looking contrite and for a moment Stinger felt bad for haven spoken so sharply. She was still young, he reminded himself, and not as used to the harshness of the universe. To make amends, he clumsily patted her hand and pointed back towards the house. “Do you know she wants me to build proper hive boxes? Build them when we’ve got a perfectly good house already loaded with hives? Is this a queen thing or a woman thing?”

As he intended, it made her laugh, and she giggled through her reply. “Oh it’s _totally_ a woman thing!”

“I thought so,” came his grumpy reply. “And what’s worse, she’s gotten all the bees on _her_ side about this. They’re in my face about it.”

More giggling. Stinger managed a wry grin and watched as his daughter drifted over after a while, dropping herself on one corner of the blanket and fanning herself with the Frisbee.

“Gah! Caine throws like a Legionnaire!” she complained.

“Ah,” her father answered. “Like every throw’s a shot designed to hit a target, you mean.”

“Duh!” Kiza held up her hand, revealing a pink palm. Caine jogged over, looking apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he told her and glanced around the group. “I’ll work on being gentler from now on, in preparation.”

“It’s fine, it’s just a game,” Kiza told him.

A beat later, Stinger heard her majesty ask, “Preparation for what?”

“The baby,” Caine replied.

Stinger froze. He glanced up at his colleague, aware of his simple confidence. “Baby?”

Everyone was staring at him, and Stinger watched Caine blink. “Yes. Gina will be having one.”

_“What?”_ this came from both Kiza and her majesty; Stinger couldn’t quite form the question verbally yet.

“When?” Kiza was already on her feet, bouncing a little. 

Caine blushed and looked downward, his shoulders hitching a little. “I don’t know; her scent tells me she has conceived, but . . .“ he trailed off, shooting an anxious glance at Stinger, who felt his own face go red.

“Damn it,” he growled softly. 

Kiza shot him a disbelieving look. “Dad!”

“No, no it’s not _that,_ ” he rose to his feet, but it was her majesty who slipped her arms around Kiza.

“Hey, gotta give him a moment, okay? This is sort of . . . big,” she murmured soothingly. “Okay?”

“It’s _good_ news,” Stinger managed a smile, putting aside other thoughts and letting the implication of Caine’s words sink in a bit. “Just . . . not what I was expecting.”

He shot a sharp look at Caine, wondering if his colleague had also smelled anything else, but the man wouldn’t meet his gaze, and certainly wasn’t speaking now, clearly aware of his faux pas.

“I knew it, I _knew_ it,” Kiza sighed. “They way they’ve been . . . ah, I mean, wow. This really is . . . big!”

“Bigger than you know,” Stinger muttered under his breath, aware that only Caine would hear him. More loudly he added, “Maybe I should go talk to her . . . alone.”

The others nodded, although Kiza looked a little disappointed, but Stinger gave her a quick kiss to the forehead to mollify her. Then he made his way to the house, wondering exactly how to break the news to his queen. It was hard to balance his thoughts, to fight back the guilty surges of pride and hope against the bleak reality, and despite being a pragmatist, Stinger found himself hoping desperately for a miracle.

A better choice.

And he didn’t want his queen to make the one he knew she would.

Consequently by the time Stinger reached the house his manner was brusque, and the bees were quick to widen their distance from him as he stomped into the house. A quick search showed that Gina wasn’t in the living room but Captain Tsing was, looking over the titles in the bookcase. Her expression seemed mild, but Stinger noted the tightness around the corners of her mouth, and that made him hesitate.

“She’s lying down,” the captain murmured, the tone a warning, “and shouldn’t be disturbed.”

Stinger nodded, and ran a hand through the spikes of his hair, caught between slinking out again, and speaking up. Captain Tsing saved him the trouble of a decision by stepping closer to him, her look a bit more compassionate now. 

”How long has she got?”

Stinger shrugged, holding back anger. “We don’t know. What did she tell you?”

“After she finished throwing up, not much,” Tsing admitted. “But I made her take some honey before ordering her to have a nap.”

“Aye, that’s good then,” he sighed.

The bees drifted closer, circling around the corner-most hive, clustering thickly there. Captain Tsing kept her gaze on him until Stinger added, “She’s pregnant too.”

It was amazing to watch her mouth pucker up so quickly. Stinger held up one hand in anticipation of a lecture and spoke up quietly. “She doesn’t know yet, and I need to tell her. Not what we’d considered, but that’s the way of things right now.”

Captain Tsing gave a slow sigh, shaking her head very slowly. “I thought you were living the easy life too. I’m sorry to be wrong this time.”

“Don’t be,” Stinger managed to dredge up a lopsided grin. “She’s worth it, _all_ of it.”

The captain inclined her head to that, and Stinger left her, making his way to the bedroom and slowing as he approached the door, wondering exactly how to say what he needed to say.

She was curled on her side, asleep, and as he approached Stinger noted three bees along her lips. He waved at them but they didn’t react, didn’t fly off, even when he came to the edge of the bed and bent down to look at her face.

_So dear,_ he thought. _Hardly any time at all for it to become dear to me._

Gina opened her eyes and their gleam let him know he’d been caught right in the middle of being sentimental, so he coughed to cover it. “You’re knocked up, you know.”

“Thanks,” she dryly shot back, and gave a sigh. “Yes, I’ve figured that out.” Impatiently she brushed the bees from her lips and moved to sit up, her wild hair fluffling around her face. Stinger sat next to her on the bed, not quite willing to meet her eyes.

“So,” she began.

“So. You can’t die,” he told her very quietly. “That’s off the table now.”

Gina nodded, which startled him, but when she turned her head, her dark eyes were bright and wet. “I’ve been trying NOT to, my lovely drone. So—"

Before she could say anything, a bee dove straight into her mouth. 

Between his own snorts, and her outraged spluttering as she dislodged the wet and slightly mangled worker, neither of them could talk for a moment. Gina managed to spit the bee out, and ran a finger over the damp fluff in her palm, shaking her head. “What on the planet’s gotten INTO them? This is the tenth bee that’s gone kamikaze on my face today!”

Stinger looked down at the bee, and scooped it out of Gina’s hand. The slick insect managed to get her feet under her, flexed her slightly crumpled wings a few times, and began to move to the high point of his fingers.

He brought it closer, staring, and something began to rattle in the back of his brain, something important. “Ten? All at your face?”

“My mouth,” Gina grimaced. “So if you see any bees out there wearing traces of Maybelline Touch of Spice you’ll _know_ where they got it.”

“Your mouth,” Stinger replied, and rose up off the bed. In two strides he was in the middle of the bedroom, gesturing to Gina to open the window.

Stinger closed his eyes, calling out forcefully, “To me, Hive Mellifera, to ME.”

They came. In waves, golden and quick, filling the room with their hum and hurry. Stinger held his arms out from his sides, feeling the snag of hundreds of bee legs, the sudden weight of thousands of bees as they poured in from the window and doorway, clinging to him, leaving only space for his nose and mouth. He slowed his breathing, letting himself take on the heft of his hive, and tried to soothe their agitation.

As it was, it took nearly five minutes to calm them all enough to speak.

_/feed!feed!mustfeed!/_ They buzzed at him.

_/feed?/_ Stinger asked, trying to stay steady in the madness clinging to him.

_/Feed!FeedOligobombus!/_ they thrummed, and he began to feel their panic seeping into himself, the urgency making Stinger fight a shudder.

_/Sheeatsthehoney/_ Stinger tried to reassure the masses. _/EverydayShe isn’thungry./_

_/NoOliogbombus!/_ the hivemind practically screamed back. _/firstfoodOligobombus!/_

_/Idon’t/_ he tried, _/Idon’tunderstand!/_

Then a bee—a single little worker—crawled along his lower lip, and when she did, Stinger tasted the cool, bitter slickness coating her body.

All the connections clicked at the same time, images flickering in his head at triple speed: Filba and Biffla, the dissolution, the increase of the hives in the kitchen, Kiza saying ‘grublet’, all of it locking in, finally.

And the bees knew it. They rose off of him, soaring away all in glittering sails except for the dozen who flew to Gina and formed a circlet across her forehead and in her dark curls. 

When the last bee left him, Stinger spun, did a quick jump of Drone’s Lure steps, and caught Gina’s shoulders in his hands. “They have it! They’re feeding you what you need!” he barked.

Gina blinked, and flicked her tongue out against her lower lip. Stinger bent and kissed both, reluctantly pulling back to add, “jelly, my queen.”

“Royal Jelly? But Mellifera—" she protested.

He shook his head. “NOT Mellifera. Oligobombus.”

“Oligo—how?!” Gina demanded, her eyes brighter now, dangerously so.

Stinger merely stared at her, waiting for Gina to figure it out, to remember the last gift of her ladies and how his own had known what to do. She gave a little gasp, and the tears spilled then, dribbling down her cheeks and onto his shoulder has Stinger pulled her close to let her cry.

“Gone but not forgotten. Never forgotten. The hive remembered and gave them back,” he rasped gently. “We looked for the answer everywhere but here in our own home, eh?”

Before Gina could say anything, a rap on the bedroom door brought them back to the moment, and when Kiza’s worried face peered around the door they tried to look normal. Tried, anyway.

“Are . . . are you guys okay? Because first the whole hive disappeared in here and now they’re out out circling the house like a tornado, which is really freaky, even for _our_ bees.”

“Yes,” Gina gave a little choked laugh. “Yes we are. We’re going to be just fine!”

“Fine,” Stinger echoed, grinning. “Everything is. Mind you, we’ll need to shop for fiddly little clothes and buy a car seat and all that, but the important thing is . . . fine.”

Kiza gave him her ‘you are SO weird’ look—a look he hadn’t seen in the last few years—but he didn’t mind at all, especially when Gina pulled her into a group hug that somehow managed not to squash the bees in her hair.


	8. Chapter 8

Epilog

The first one was difficult; although Stinger had seen how it was done once or twice he’d never been involved directly. There was a lot of cursing, some suggestions from Kiza and supreme patience from his queen, but in the end, after all the labor, sweat, and beer, he and Gina beamed at the sturdy little hive box.

“Gorgeous,” she told him, nuzzling his cheek as she did so. “The very first one. We’ll put it right in the middle of the herb garden.”

“Aye,” Stinger agreed, wiping his brow and grinning, “That will showcase it nicely, once it’s painted, which is _your_ job I might add.”

“I know, I know,” Gina murmured, waddling away to look at the back of the box. “We’ll do something cheerful.”

“No bees. No _extra bees,_ that is. And no black and yellow stripes,” came the grumble. 

“Spoilsport. I could always do starsssssssssssssssssooooh,” Gina managed, her comment stretching out into an uncomfortable groan. 

Stinger shot her a sharp gaze, waiting.

Finally she bit her lip meeting it with an embarrassed half-smile. “Uhnnn, yeah. I think so.”

Even as the words left her lips, a buzzing cloak surrounded her, a protective veil that Stinger brushed through as he slipped an arm around his queen’s waist and tried to stay calm. “We’re fine,” he assured her. “You’ve been taking the jelly, we know what to do, we’ve been preparing for nine months.”

The words were true, but Stinger felt the tension coil in his gut. A good tension, but still there, still sending signals to the drone within him to protect. Gina let him help her to the ottoman and sat down heavily.

“Yes, we are. So I think you’d best send that call up to the captain, and I’ll . . . juuuust do some breathing here.”

“Right.” Stinger circled around, aware of the bees clustering again around Gina. “I’ll just call . . .”

She fished the com’ out of her pocket, tossing it up to him with a tight smile. “It was my day to carry it. Want me to text Kiza?”

“Yes. NO!” he spluttered when Gina let out another long groan. “So just how long have you been . . . . y’know, all _having_ it?”

“Few . . . hours,” she admitted, “Didn’t want to get you all distracted from the hive box.”

“Arrh!” Stinger swooped down, kissed her hard, and rolled his eyes. “You are the most devious person I’ve ever seen outside a mirror! Fine! Calling, unless you plan to drop this grub right here and now!”

“Don’t. Tempt. Me,” Gina managed through gritted teeth. She weakly grinned though, to show she wasn’t serious, and motioned for him to get on with it. 

Stinger gave her another sharp glance before activating the device. He wanted his tone to be authoritative, but the huskiness got in the way. “Ah, Captain . . . believe it’s time.”

“All right then. Dispatching med tech now, and congratulations,” came T’sing’s infuriatingly calm reply. 

“Easy for _you_ to say,” Stinger muttered and clicked the device off.

\--oo00oo—

Gina tried to order him to build the rest of the boxes. For—well, not the first time, but certainly one of the rare times-- Stinger ignored her demand. He stayed planted on the stool at the side of the bed, mopping her brow, holding her hand, and when needed, distracting her as best he could. 

The med tech, Ando Fortinax, was a sturdy fellow—a hedgehog Splice with huge pink hands and a gleaming overbite. He hummed as he worked, every action deliberate and gentle, and Stinger felt glad that at least one of them in the room was calm.

“All right, things are going well,” he told them a few hours later. “You’ll feel a shift as the baby starts down the canal, so bear down when you get the urge, your highness.”

“Will . . . . dooo,” Gina huffed, and Stinger lightly pressed the damp cloth against her cheek. Several of the larger workers were a foot over her face, swarming in circles to create a breeze, which helped.

“Water?” Stinger asked for the seventh time. Gina ignored him and leaned forward, her face squinched in an expression that told him her concentration was definitely elsewhere.

He forced himself to relax. It wasn’t easy—it had never been easy—but as a soldier and a drone Stinger knew that sometimes the best course of action was to wait. 

Even if he hated doing it.

“Good one, yes, a few more like that,” Fortinax murmured encouragingly. “I can see the pupa now, push your highness!”

She did, and hard; Stinger felt Gina’s grip tighten in his to bone-crushing intensity and he bit back his own yelp so he wouldn’t distract her. Then Gina gave a hard grunt, the tech said something, and a few moments later, she loosened her hold on his palm, letting her hand drop away.

The bees circled more quickly, and Stinger blinked, looking at the tech, and the wet pale bundle in his big hands.  
“Felicitations! It’s a brood!” Fortinax rumbled happily.

“A brood?” Gina asked before he did, her dark eyes wide.

“Certainly. Four healthy grublets here, one definitely on the human side, and three most likely within human/apis blend.” As he spoke, Stinger watched the tech carefully lay the bundle on a clean warm cloth-lined square basket and separate it out: one large wiggly being and three much smaller ones. Humming, he cleaned them all off, and bees clustered on the swaddling around the smaller three while Fortinax wrapped the largest, lifting the baby up.

“I think your ladies can care for the triplets . . . and this one . . .” he rolled his stool closer and handed the bundle to Gina, “needs you.”

“I need to see them _all,_ ” Gina breathlessly ordered, and Stinger rose before she’d finished saying it. He lifted the basket and carried it over, marveling at the tiny forms within it. Gina sat up and shifted the baby to one side, making room for the basket, studying over all four of her children before looking up at him.

“We have a _court,_ my love,” she grinned.

Stinger swallowed hard, reaching down to lightly touch each little daughter’s cheek before shifting to the baby in Gina’s embrace. “That we do. Although it’s ass backwards, y’know.”

Startled, Gina looked down at her son and then back up to Stinger, her shock apparent.

He laughed. “Aye, we’ve a prince and his ladies, my queen.”

\--oo00oo—

Naturally Kiza named her brother Rian, pointing out the meaning was perfect for him. Stinger couldn’t argue, and Gina liked it was well so that was settled. As for the girls, it took a while to come up with Maisy, Kerry, and Zara.

The household routines jumbled up, and it took a while to get used to new schedules. Rian needed to be breastfed while his sisters took little bottles of royal jelly, and all four of them absolutely _had_ to be kept in the same sheltered crib together or else they cried like fiends, but when that was figured out, everything else seemed to fall into place with ease.

It amazed him how quickly all the old skills came back. Rocking the babies, softly singing to them, changing and feeding and dandling them.

Stinger had missed this.

Both Kiza and Gina indulged him to a certain degree, letting him enjoy himself. Which he did, very much. Maisie turned out to be a sweetly chubby child, very sweet and mild-tempered. Kerry was excitable, and prone to getting the hiccups while giggling, her little frame bouncing with every burble. Zara was smaller and quieter than her sisters, and Stinger thought she had the natural makings of a queen to her since she watched the bees constantly, turning to follow them wherever they were in the room. 

And there was their son of course, with Gina’s dark eyes and his own pale straw hair. A long, lanky baby with a stubborn streak to him. He seemed happiest near his sisters, and Stinger sensed a ringleader in the making.

“Comes from being the alpha grub of two strong-willed parents,” he confided in Gina as the two of them sat on the roof. “We’ll be in for it, just you wait a year or two.”

She scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder, and Stinger tightened his arm around her waist, looking up with her to the dark sky. The air was cooler now, and in a little while both of them would have to come back down to deal with baths and diapers and bedtime, but for now the quiet of the harvested fields under the full moon held beautiful peace.

“Well the best part is that I _can,_ my drone,” Gina whispered back. “I’ve got years and years now, thanks to you, and your hives.”

“ _Our_ hives,” Stinger reminded her. “Regina Bombini-Apini. Our hives.”

She grinned up at him. “Sweet.”

end


End file.
